


Dave ==> Visit the Alternate Timeline

by AmariT



Series: Visitors [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, Superstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-19
Updated: 2012-08-07
Packaged: 2017-11-08 03:35:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/438695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmariT/pseuds/AmariT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This certainly isn't the first time you've woken up with a pounding headache and no idea where you are or what happened. In fact, you think it's a common experience for guys in their early twenties, though you imagine most don't have to wonder whether it's because of alcohol or villains.</p><p>Dave tries to use time travel to keep Dirk and John from becoming villains.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marzichan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marzichan/gifts).



> Also posted on my [Tumblr](http://amarits.tumblr.com/post/16846708985/dave-visit-the-alternate-timeline-part-1-4)

This certainly isn’t the first time you’ve woken up with a pounding headache and no idea where you are or what happened. In fact, you think it’s a common experience for guys in their early twenties, though you imagine most don’t have to wonder whether it’s because of alcohol or villains.

You keep your eyes closed and breathing steady as you probe your memories. If you’ve been captured then you don’t want to reveal that you’re awake until you have a better understanding of the situation—and if you had too much to drink, well, steady breathing won’t hurt.

You remember sidestepping through time. Once you know the trick, it’s not nearly as complicated to traipse across timelines as you would have expected. Finding John and your bro proved to be significantly more difficult though. They were no longer living in their old apartments or working their old jobs. For all you knew, they weren’t even in the same city.

The vibrato around you sharpens into indignant clamoring. “Here’s another solution. You could have told him that you thought The Tailorbird had moved to Dersity and then gone and met up with him there, had a nice little visit, and sent him home none-the-wiser.”

You know that voice. You knew it the first time you heard it that night too. You were navigating the rooftops, trying to find John and Bro’s heroic alter egos when the voice exclaimed, “Balderdash! I can name twenty reasons off the top of my head why blue is a better color than orange.” It seemed luck was on your side. If General Terror was causing trouble then your bro would be soon to follow. “I certainly wouldn’t count that as a point in orange’s favor; that costume was hideous.” He paused, clearly talking to someone through a communicator. “Oh, don’t you snark at me. We both know it’s true.”

You dropped in front of him, causing him to skitter backwards into the wall. “Hi, Generally Terrible,” you jeered at the cowering villain.

“Oh. Hi, Dave,” he replied, straightening his cape and trying to regain his composure. “Yes, that Dave,” he answered his communicator. “Let me deal with this. I’ll call you back.”

“What are you up to?” you asked casually, surveying your surroundings. There wasn’t a bank, museum, or gun shop in sight, nor did you see any immediately noticeable doomsday devices. You weren’t used to there being this much mystery—or, indeed, any mystery—surrounding General Terror’s choice of crimes.

“Or how about this!” the nearby voice asserts, cutting through your memories. “You knew he was there. You could have shown up as The Tailorbird right then and saved us all a lot of trouble.”

Who is he talking to? Oh, that’s right, you remember. He had a partner. The guy from the communicator.

The first warning you’d had of his arrival was the katana he held at your throat. It immediately reminded you of your brother’s weapon, but you doubted laser swords were a particularly unique design.

“Hands off,” he growled, and you backed away from GT.

“I said I’d handle this!” GT protested.

“Yes,” his partner replied, “and I knew you’d do an ass poor job of it, so I decided to intervene.” His stance relaxed as you moved. You kept your demeanor nonthreatening. This new guy was an unknown element, and you were really only here to get some questions answered. “Also,” he continued, “you do realize that some 78 percent of people pick blue as their favorite color based on some statistical analysis I just pulled out of my ass. Are you really so typical?”

“I think the fact that the majority of people favor blue simply indicates that it is indeed the dominant color, unlike orange, which only .02 percent of people prefer according to an idiotic and overused catchphrase that you really ought to retire.”

“Look, guys,” you interrupted. “Do you think you could put a pin in your ridiculous argument for just a moment. I’m trying to find my brother.”

“The Tailorbird, right?” GT’s partner asked, shifting his weight to one side. “I’m afraid you’re out of luck. He’s dead. I killed him.” His sword raised to your throat again. “Now, do you want to return to your own timeline with or without having your derriere handed to you, because, honestly, I’m fine with either.”

You stood stock still, staring at the villain—his green, spiky hair, his utility belt filled with devices, his sword… that was your brother’s sword. He killed your brother and took his sword.

Rage flowed through your veins like lava. He killed your brother, and you were going to kill him.

The memories blur into a haze again. You want to rub at your temples and attempt to release some of the pressure building in your scalp, but you need to retain the appearance of unconsciousness. A second nearby voice answers the first. “What can I say? I wanted to beat the crap out of him.”

“Dagnabbit, I have nothing against you beating the crap out of him,” the first voice gripes. “It’s him beating the crap out of us that I would have liked to have avoided.”

You did beat the crap out of them, didn’t you? You remember lunging at the green haired villain with a ferocity you’ve rarely felt while fighting. He blocked your sword with his katana, but stepped back, already caught off balance.

A sharp pain bit into your side and you immediately slowed time, stepping out of the way and thrusting Green into the line of fire so that most of GT’s blast hit him instead. And then…

Then…

You wince involuntarily, and immediately force your facial muscles to relax. The nearby voices are still arguing. “Besides,” insists the second one, “if we successfully completed your suggested subterfuge, then we’d just have to deal with him the next time he decided to visit, and the next time after that. No thank you.”

“I think that would have been a fun game!” asserts a third voice. You know that voice. “Like Peekaboo, except we do whatever we want while his eyes are covered but have to act all perfect while they’re not.” You know all of these voices. Why?

You try to focus on details from the fight, but you can’t envision most of the specifics. You do know that despite its length, you barely had a mark on you when the third villain arrived. He was a skinny kid with orange hair and a pink and blue outfit, floating upside down above General Terror. “What are you guys doing?” he asked.

“Fighting for our lives,” GT hissed through gritted teeth.

“That sounds fun! Can I play?” He flipped over and dropped onto GT’s shoulders, leaning forward with his arms crossed on his mount’s head.

GT’s eyes flickered upwards. “You are more than welcome to join our brawl.”

“Yay!” He held his hands out over his fellow villain and a tornado wrapped around you, holding you captive as Green lunged towards you, katana swinging towards your chest. NO. You reversed time, and the orange haired villain was upside down above GT again. You sprung towards him, trying to take him out of the fight before he could attack.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, twisting the air in front of him so that your sword spun in the wrong direction. He shot up into the sky, above your range. “Whaddya do that for?”  
“He’s using time travel to fight us,” Green growled. “The arm brace.”

“Oh, right!” Orange beamed, happily bouncing through the sky overhead. “We know how to handle that.” The air in front of you exploded, throwing you backwards towards Green. You twisted to face him, raising your sword, but he’d holstered his weapon and was holding a small device instead. He gently lobbed it towards you. A bomb, you thought, about to reverse time again when blue lighting shot out of it and surrounded your arm brace. The metal sparked and burned your skin. You tried to reverse time, but nothing happened.

The wind surrounded you again, pushing you against a wall this time and binding your limbs as tightly as shackles. The three villains circled around you, and you knew who they were.

You know who they are.

John giggled manically, rolling through the air.

“What do you find so friggin funny?” GT asked, doubled over with heavy breaths.

“We broke his time brace,” John explained through his laughter.

“It’s just a mild electrical failure,” Bro replied, pulling another device from his utility belt. “I’ll be able to fix it in ten minutes.”

“No, no, you don’t get it,” John said. “His time brace is broken and he’s stuck here. It’s just like old times!”

“Yeah,” Bro countered, stepping towards you and holding the device a couple of inches from your face. “Just like old times.”

When the screaming started, you couldn’t tell if it was from the device, in your head, or coming from your mouth. The pain intensified until you fell into the cool comfort of unconsciousness.

You open your eyes to face your captors. You’re locked in a pie piece shaped cell. The room’s corner is at your back and iron bars circle from one wall to the other. Your view through the bars shimmers and warps like a reflection in water, so you’re not tricked into believing that only metal blocks your escape.

John sits immediately outside the cell, spinning in quick, tight circles like a kid on a stool, but without the stool. Beyond him, you see your bro and GT hunched over a counter. Bro is looking through a microscope at the internal workings of your arm brace. Fixing it, you suppose. All three are dressed in civies and have resumed their normal appearances—Bro with blonde hair and freckles, John with black hair. You suppose their villainous disguises come from yet another of Bro’s gadgets.

Bro turns his gaze from the microscope to John. “Be that as it may, it would be a waste of our…” He trails off as his eyes jump to you. “How long has he been awake?”

“John!” GT sputters. “You were supposed to be watching him!”

“Sorry, sorry!” John exclaims. “I’m watching him now!” He flips forward so that his chin rests on his arms and his feet are above his head, making a show of staring intently at you.

“What the hell did I miss?” you ask, making your tone as demanding as you can despite the continued pounding in your head.

John perks up immediately. “Well, my 21st birthday was last week! It was a lot of fun! The Tipsy Gambit threw me the best party. We had…”

“Dammit, John, I don’t care about your birthday!”

“Well, no duh,” he replies with an exaggerated pout. “You’ve missed three of them.”

“I didn’t mean…” You sigh, rubbing at your temples. “What happened to you guys? Did the idiot over there invent some kind of evil ray gun?”

“Ooh!” GT says, his expression brightening. “What a marvelous prospect. We could turn everyone evil.”

“Why would we want everyone to be evil?” Bro asks, taking your arm brace out from under the microscope and inspecting his work. “There needs to be a system in place in which some people make money and other people steal it. Otherwise, everyone is just stealing the same money back and forth.”

“I think that would be an awesome system!” John interjects. “We could have stealing buddies! Jake!” he calls to GT, shooting through the air and landing on the counter between him and Bro. “Do you want to be stealing buddies? I’ll steal your money, you can steal my money, and then we’ll treat each other to ice cream.”

A smirk plays across Bro’s face as he seals the arm brace’s hatch. “I suppose the system could work if everyone treats everyone to ice cream at the end of the day.”

“Why wouldn’t they?” asks John. “Everyone loves ice cream.”

“What is wrong with you people?” you ask.

All three of them turn to look at you. “I suppose it depends on who you ask,” John answers, “but most of the people we hang out with think we’re pretty spectacular.”

Bro approaches your cell, time brace in hand. You stand to face him, straightening your back and stretching for every extra inch you can gain on him. He wordlessly presses a button on the cage’s control panel, tosses the arm brace to you through the bars, and presses the button again.

You catch the brace, but hold it gingerly, not convinced it isn’t booby trapped. “I assume you realize I can escape with this.”

“Go home,” he replies. “You’re not welcome here.”

“What happened?” you repeat.

“Time happened. I would expect you of all people to understand that. Or are you too much of an outside observer of time to recognize its flow?”

“Something must have happened,” you press, desperate for information. “An enemy? An attack? A severe head injury?”

“What are you looking for, bro? An exact road map from point A to point B, preferably with specific dates, times, and locations of life-changing moments so that you can try to alter things to your liking? It doesn’t work that way. Stay out of our past, stay out of our future, and get the fuck out of our present.”

You look at John, who waves with a grin and says, “It was great seeing you again!” You look back at your bro’s stoney countenance. You pick up your arm brace and put it on. Then you step two and a half years backwards in time.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s three weeks after you left this timeline to return to your own. You stand around a corner from Bro’s apartment building, watching him and John carry in John’s stuff. It’s really just a few boxes. Despite months of living with you in Skaiopolis, most of John’s possessions are still back at his dad’s place and none of the furniture the two of you had accrued is worth keeping.

Bro pulls out his phone while he and John survey the remaining boxes, and as he looks at it, his brow furrows. His thumb scrolls along the side of the phone and presses on the screen. Then he looks up, directly at where you stand.

You duck behind the building, not ready to be seen just yet. You want to follow the course of events and understand what happened before you attempt to change anything.

When you look around the corner again, they’re out of sight. Probably inside, unpacking. You close your eyes and lean against the building. You could really use some Advil and a nap before continuing your surveillance. It’s not like the timeline is going to change while you sleep—you weren’t in it to begin with.

“What are you doing here, Dave?” a voice asks from behind you. You whip around to face it, scraping your shoulder against the wall in your hurry. Your bro is standing there in full Tailorbird costume, his katana drawn.

“Hey, Bro,” you reply cautiously. “Just checking up on you and John. Thought I’d stop in and see how you’re doing. What’s with the sword?”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and holds it towards you so you can read the screen. It’s open on a text message that says, “If you are receiving this, then it means that Dave is going to try to mess up your future. Don’t let him.”

“How…” you start to ask, and then you look at your arm brace. “Okay, I have to admit, Bro, your programing skills are amazing.”

“I know,” he says, returning his phone to his pocket. “Now, I ask again, what are you doing here?”

You hold your hands up, palms forward, to indicate your peaceful intentions. “I get what you’re thinking, but I’m here to help. Some bad shit goes down in the future and I’m trying to prevent it.”

He lowers his weapon. “You know, bro, I believe you. I do. But I obviously don’t want your help. I told myself that loud and clear.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t really have your best interests at heart.” You look over your shoulder at the apartment building, considering your words carefully before continuing. “I wasn’t going to say anything until I had a better idea of what happened, but you go evil, dude. You and John both do.”

“John,” Bro repeats, emphasizing the name, “goes evil? I trust you understand my disbelief.”

“Yeah, I have trouble believing it too,” you admit. “But it’s true. All laughter and grinning. It’s creepy.”

“I believe most normal people consider laughter and grinning to be a positive indication.”

“Not in this case. Trust me on this one.”

Bro looks down and to the side. Towards his pocket, you think. He must be contemplating the message.

“Okay,” he says finally. “I believe you.”

“Okay,” you echo. “Okay, good. So, you’ll help me?”

“No,” he replies, raising his weapon again. “Sorry, bro. I admit it’s not the future I expected, but if we’re happy.”

Your heart sinks. “You’re not…”

“Clearly,” he interrupts. “We are.”

You don’t understand how this conversation has gone so wrong, and you can’t even begin to contemplate how to fix it. You open your mouth to respond, and then close it a week earlier.

Telling Bro that they became villains was obviously the wrong choice. Even acknowledging that he was the one to send himself that message was probably the wrong choice.

You sit on a bench with your head in your hands. You just need a moment to rest and think about your next step. You remember the way Bro looked directly at your position after reading his text message. He must have included GPS tracking on your time brace too. Fucking genius programmer. You’re sure he’ll find you soon enough.

“What are you doing here, Dave?” You jerk upright at the voice. You must have drifted off. At least the pounding in your head is less severe.

“Hey, Bro,” you reply, patting the bench beside you. “Have a seat.”

He eyes the bench suspiciously and maintains his position. “No, thank you. You look horrible.”

“Thanks, it’s a new style I’m trying out. All the rage over in the other timeline.” You lean back, hooking your arms over the back of the bench.

“What are you doing here?” he repeats. His posture hasn’t relaxed. If anything, you think he looks more tense this time around.

“Look, I know you think you’ve received a message from yourself, but you haven’t. The person who sent that is a villain who is trying to turn you against me.”

He shifts his position. It’s a subtle change that those with less combat experience wouldn’t notice, but you recognize it as preparation for a fight. “It’s not that I’m doubting you,” he replies, “but it is interesting that the text says, ‘This message has been sent two times. If this is your first time receiving it, Dave is trying to trick you by going further back in time.’”

“Oh, for fuck’s…” You trail off and study your brother’s demeanor. Yeah, there’s no chance of him listening to you.

You jump another week backwards. The reel of time is running out. It’s now only a week since you originally left this timeline.

This time you head straight to John’s place, slowing the flow of time around you so you can flash-step directly from your position to his door. You don’t know how much time you have before Bro sees the message, but you doubt it’s long.

You knock on the door and wait. You don’t have many options if he’s not there. Travel back an hour at a time until he is? You’re exhausted just thinking about it.

John first opens the door with the chain attached, but when he sees you, he squeals and slams it. You hear him fumbling with the lock, and then he flings the door fully open. “Dave!” he cheers, engulfing you in a hug. “What are you doing here? Come in!”

You follow him into the apartment. Half packed boxes are strewn about, which isn’t actually all that different from its usual decor. “You’re moving in with my brother, right?” you ask.

“Mm, yeah! That’s the plan. But, what’s going on? Are you back for good? We can work things out if you are.” He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement, but slows as he seems to realize the implications if you are back. “I mean, is everything okay? With the other timeline?”

“The other timeline’s fine,” you reassure him. “Unfortunately, I can’t stay long, but I wanted to see you. Talk to you.”

“Oh, okay!” He plops down onto a box, grin firmly planted back on his face.

You don’t know how to approach the issue so you start with the mundane. “Are you going to sell off our furniture?”

John giggles, rocking backwards and almost falling off the box. “Do you think we have anything worth selling?”

“No,” you admit, a smile playing at your lips. “Probably not.”

The door slams open then and you hold back a groan. You thought you’d have more time. You should have reattached the chain after coming in. Not that it would have made a difference, you realize. John would have immediately let Bro in regardless.

You turn to face your brother, reminding yourself that this is a Bro who hasn’t experienced your previous few encounters and trying to keep your face neutral. Disappointment or annoyance would only make you appear more suspicious.

“What’s going on?” John asks, jumping up.

“I don’t know,” Bro replies. His expression is blank, but he keeps his gaze on you as he circles the apartment to John’s location, keeping a constant distance between the two of you, and hands him the phone.

“You really can’t trust the person sending you those messages,” you tell him.

“I’m sending me these messages,” he replies, voice deadpan.

“How can you be so sure?”

“If I reveal the secrets to my methods of encoding and decoding messages from myself, then they will no longer be viable methods.”

You mentally curse. You should have known he had those messages encoded. Idiot. Keeping your tone steady, you say, “Well, I’m from two and a half years years in the future, so that’s an awfully lot of time for someone to hack your encoding methods.”

John breaks his gaze away from the phone to look at Bro. “Three times?”

Bro nods. “This is the first time I’ve received it.

His brow furrows as he studies the phone far longer than really seems necessary to read the three sentence message. “What’s going on, Dave?”

“It’s a little complicated. I was going to explain.” Both of them watch you, waiting for your explanation, but you hesitate. You remember how Bro reacted when you told him the full truth. “Bad stuff happens.”

“That’s your complicated explanation?” Bro asks. “Bad stuff happens?”

“It’s too complicated to go into everything. You just have to trust me.”

“No, we don’t have to,” Bro counters. “Not if you don’t give us reason to.” He motions to the phone. “Three times. Is this your third time trying to explain it to us?”

You hesitate again. You know how it looks, but your brain’s not working fast enough to find the right words. You already admitted to knowing about the messages, so you can’t deny it now.

“This is my first time talking to John,” you answer quietly. “I tried talking to you, but you trusted your phone more than you trusted me.”

“I wouldn’t have trusted my phone more if you had a good explanation,” he replies. “And, for that matter, if you had a good explanation, you’d have already given it to us.”

You turn to John for help, but he looks between you and Bro like a deer in headlights. “I don’t… I don’t know. Just give me a moment.”

You’ve really goddamned fucked up if John’s having trouble trusting you. And what’s your fucking plan anyway? Assuming you manage to bludgeon them into believing you, what would you say to change things? You don’t even know why they became villains.

“You know what, never mind,” you mutter. “I don’t suppose I could take a nap here.”

“No,” Bro answers. John looks uncertain but doesn’t disagree.

“Yeah, of course not,” you reply. “I’ll talk to you guys later.”

You step back to the day before. Luckily, no one’s in the apartment. You let yourself out and climb to the roof. The sun’s just starting to set, so you sit with your legs dangling over the edge and watch it. You should try to get some sleep before Bro arrives, but you can’t convince yourself to lie down.

You don’t turn to face him when you hear the opening door and footsteps behind you. “Yeah, yeah, I know,” you mutter, pressing your fingers against your brow. “This message has been sent four times. I’m not trying to mess up your future, Bro. I’m not trying to deal with you at all right now. I just need a little time to rest and think.”

“You understand if I’m hesitant to grant you that.”

“You don’t even know why you’re fighting me!” you exclaim, frustration leaking into your voice as you twist around.

“You’re right,” Bro replies. “I don’t. I can’t even begin to fathom the reason. But I know it’s worth fighting for.” He’s gripping the phone so tightly that his knuckles have turned white. “I’ve made that abundantly clear to myself.”

“You know what?” you say, spreading your arms out. “I’m not going to fight you. I’m just going to sit right here and think. If you want to attack your unarmed brother while he peacefully sits here because an anonymous message you think is from yourself tells you to, that’s your choice, dawg.”

You turn back out towards the skyline. He doesn’t approach you, but you know he’s still there, making sure you don’t try anything.

You had the right idea going to John; you just need to time it so that Bro can’t interrupt. He has a job. You don’t know how long he’ll keep it, but you know he has one now. If you go while he’s working then he might not see the text for hours.

You’ll need to go forward this time. The more times you go backwards, increasing that goddamned times already sent number, the more suspicious Bro will become. At least you haven’t made a terrible impression this time. If you stay peaceful, maybe he’ll start to doubt the veracity of that message.

Two months forward, you decide. Enough that he won’t be regularly checking his phone in case you show up again, not so much that things will have significantly changed.

You stand up and Bro tenses. “Relax,” you say. “I’m going. Though, for the record, You shouldn’t believe everything you read.”


	3. Chapter 3

You knock on the door to John and Bro’s apartment, watching the hallway as you mentally tally the number of ways this could go wrong. Bro’s no longer working at this time, or keeps his phone on him while he works. John’s not home. They’ve already moved.  
But then John opens the door, blinks in surprise, and squeals, throwing his arms around you. “Dave!” he exclaims. “What are you doing here? Come in!”

You can’t help but grin at his enthusiasm. He keeps an arm around you as he drags you into the apartment and sits you down. He babbles away, asking if you want anything to eat or drink and then deciding that he’s going to make you something whether you want it or not. As he putters about, preparing what appears to be a seven course meal, you breathe a sigh of relief that Bro hasn’t said anything to him. Well, of course he hasn’t. He’s a Strider. What are you guys good at if not hiding things from the people you care about?

“You didn’t use the chain this time,” you note when John finally settles down.

“Hm? Oh, you mean the door?” He giggles abashedly. “I guess I don’t really feel like I need to anymore.”

“So, I guess training’s going well?” You nibble at the edge of a sandwich and your stomach revolts against the addition of food, nausea flaring up to join your headache. Maybe you’ll just stick to tea for now.

“Yeah, really well! I feel like I can take on anyone! Well, I know that’s not really true,” he amends, nervously running his fingers through his hair. “But almost anyone!”

“And everything’s going well with Bro?” you ask, sipping the hot beverage. Okay, that’s better. Now you’re more or less back to your previous state of unwell instead of amplifying it.

“Yeah! He’s uh… well, yeah!” You wonder what he was going to say that he decided against. “He’s at work right now, but he’ll be home in thirty minutes or so. If you’d, um, like to see him.”

Thirty minutes. That’s less than you… Wait. Your thoughts derail as you take note of John’s hesitation.

“Why wouldn’t I want to see him?” you ask.

John shrugs, clumsily avoiding your gaze. “I don’t know. I just get the feeling something happened between you two.”

“Has something happened to Bro that I should know about?” you press.

“No, no! Nothing like that. He just… doesn’t like to talk about you.”

“Oh, okay.” You relax. That’s just because of the text. You can even use it to your advantage. “He probably just needs some time. Maybe I should go before he gets here.”

“Oh…” John looks so downcast that you want to immediately take it back, but you know it’s for the best if you don’t meet up with Bro right now. “But you just got here.”

“I know, but I don’t want to make Bro uncomfortable,” you say, strategically laying the blame on your brother. Damn, you’re clever. “I’ll come back.”

“When?” he asks.

You contemplate the question. If you keep doing little jumps forward, you can get a better idea of the course of events while also being there for John. Not too often though, or Bro will catch on. “A month,” you decide. “I’ll come earlier so we have more time before Bro gets off work.”

“Okay,” John says. “If you think it’s for the best. At least take something to eat.” He starts carrying plates into the kitchen and packaging up the food. “You look terrible.”

“Is that any way to talk to a lady?” you ask, and he giggles. That’s better. “Thanks,” you say as he hands you the wrapped up food, even though you know there’s no point. He’ll just have more food for you in a couple of minutes.

And he does. You knock on the apartment door after discarding your leftovers, and he opens it to a room full of cookies. The smell is so sweet that it rekindles your nausea, but you manage to force down a couple of cookies anyway. They’re too delicious not to. The next time, it’s brownies. Then cupcakes.

He’s always so happy to see you. You swear he’s happier every time, laughing and grinning like a child and inviting you to play games. You spend hours every month playing Clue, Candy Land, Sorry, and Guess Who while telling stories from each of your timelines.

After over a year and a half of visits, you’re exhausted and confused, but not unhappy. You’ve been awake for more than 24 hours at this point, and the repeated time jumps are draining what little energy you have. You’re surviving off of a series of 5 to 10 minute long unintentional naps. John always teases that if you’re going to take your eyes off of the game, he should cheat.

Every visit, he rambles on and on about this or that evil plot he and Bro foiled and how great of a hero team they make. You’re starting to wonder if you already managed to somehow avert the villainous future.

John has long since stopped asking if you want to stay and see Bro, but now you’re wondering if you should. You don’t want to avoid him forever; that was just a matter of practicality. If the danger has passed then maybe it would be a good time to start trying to rebuild your relationship.

You meander out of the apartment building after your most recent visit and smile into the wind. After years of knowing John, you can’t help but feel happy in the breeze. This is your first time outside in too long. You always leave the apartment between visits so you can knock on the door and be invited in like a civilized guest, but usually you don’t go further than a few steps down the hallway.

You’re thinking about waiting here for Bro so that you can talk to him alone, or maybe walking to his workplace and meeting him there. You’re surprised he’s kept the same job for this long. With that kind of dedication, he should be a manager by now.

You stroll to the sidewalk and plop onto a bench. Maybe you could take a brief nap while waiting. There’s a newspaper beside you, and you’re starting to fold it into a pillow when you see the front page picture. Under a headline declaring the robbery of a priceless gemstone, a blurry photograph shows three figures accused of the crime. It’s a poor quality image, too dark for detail and shot from an odd angle, but for you there’s no mistaking who they are.

Time slows, each tick of the clock pounding in your head. You scan the article, not able to fully ingest it, only taking note of the details that confirm what you already know.

You’re back at John’s door before you even register standing. He opens it, all grins and glee. “Dave! What are you doing back? You just left!”

“Peekaboo,” you growl, thrusting the newspaper at him.

He barely glances at it before smiling sadly at you. “Aw, Dave,” he says. “But we were having oh so much fun! Don’t you think you could just forget this and we can continue playing our game? I got to be the one to fool you for once! Keeping secrets from the secret keeper.”

“How long?” you ask in a harsh whisper.

“You’ll have to be more specific than that!” He floats backwards and flops onto the couch indian style, grinning at you and awaiting your inquiry. You follow him in and close the door. Maybe not the safest move, shutting yourself in with a villain, but it’s easy enough to escape him through time if necessary, and you need these questions answered. They’re raging inside of you, threatening to tear you apart while you replay every visit for any hint that you missed.

“How long have you been a villain?” You push the words through gritted teeth, hardly able to keep from choking on the last syllables.

“Oh, do the details really matter?” he asks, unable to sit still. He shoots up into the air, floats back down, twists and flips. “Long enough, and knew about your brother even longer.”

Your insides swirl and threaten to evacuate as you watch him. “Did you… know about the text message?” you ask, trying to pinpoint where things went off course.

“Of course!” he giggles. “Your brother showed me it the day he got it. Said he wasn’t going to stop me from talking to you but that I should be careful.”

He knew, you realize, and now you really are going to be sick. He knew from your very first visit. He knew, and you lied to him. He knew, and you kept secrets from him, assuming that your brother would as well. He trusted Bro over you because Bro told him the truth. Where did Bro learn to do that? It certainly wasn’t from you.

“Did you really think you could control my life on a couple of hours a month?” John asks, and you look up at him. He’s still grinning, but there’s malice underlying his cheerful expression now. “I’ll admit you did a pretty good job at it when you were here 24/7, but if you really wanted to sustain that level of control, maybe you should have aimed for, at the very least, daily visits. Brought along a questionnaire to make sure I was progressing well.”

“What did I do wrong?” you ask. You can hear the desperation in your voice. It’s pitiful.

John drifts towards you and pats you on the head. It’s all you can do to not cringe away. “I’m going to tell you something, Dave, and I know that this will be really hard for you to hear.” He draws so close that you can feel the breaths of his whispers on your lips. “Nothing you did caused this, and nothing you do can change it. I guess what I’m saying is, the world does not revolve around you. Or perhaps it would be better to say, you do not control how the world turns. Just like everyone else, all you can do is watch it twirl and twirl and twirl.”

Another burst of laughter explodes from him and he shoots backwards. “So, can I expect you next month?”

You force yourself to maintain your poker expression all the way to the door and as you open it and close it behind you, but as soon as you’re free of his gaze, you run. You get out of the building, out of the neighborhood, and run until you can’t possibly run anymore. You collapse onto a clump of grass and try to force your aching head to think.

What do you do? What the fuck do you do? You could go back and redo the first visit. Tell him the truth. Don’t hide anything. And then what? Do a year and a half of visits over again? Trying to do them right this time? Only to maybe find out at the end that you failed again and then try again, and no, no, no, fuck that, no. You can’t do that again, you just can’t.

But what are your options? As your mind muddles through everything you know about the situation, it lands on the one person from their trio you haven’t talked to yet—General Terror. He was the one who was already a villain. He must have been the one to draw them into this initially.

If he wasn’t in the picture… they would be fine, right? If this was the result of some kind of evil ray, they’d be fine, and if it was the result of GT just slowly convincing them to join his side, they’d be fine.

If he were dead, they’d be fine.

And you’re not a killer, but you’ve always known that if it came down to the life of someone you loved or the life of a villain, you wouldn’t even hesitate. And somewhere among your muddled mind and aching head and nausea, one thought shines through clear, like a lighthouse beam through the fog.

If you kill him, they’ll be fine.


	4. Chapter 4

There’s only one time you’re absolutely certain John and your brother will be occupied. You travel back to the day you left, that other you, two and a half years ago. You took about ten minutes to say goodbye to them. That’s ten minutes that you know, no matter how indifferent he may act, your brother won’t check his text messages.

You flash-step to the door of General Terror’s lair, but time moves just a little too fast as you travel and you have to take a moment to breathe when you arrive. You can’t keep this up for much longer.

You know the lair well from when GT and your brother were working together to fix your time brace. You suppose this whole thing is your own fault. Those encounters were the first times they cooperated on anything. The first times they spoke without arguing.

Or arguing as much, you suppose. From what you’ve seen of the future, you’re not sure they ever stop arguing.

You try to clear your thoughts. You can’t think of GT as the person right now, only as the villain. You brace yourself before entering his lab. As you expected, he’s there, sitting at a table and tinkering with a device your brother built. Probably trying to reverse engineer it. He always did hate how much better Bro was with electronics than him.

Jesus Christ. You purge your thoughts again, focusing on GT—General Terror, the full name was much more villainous than the almost cutesy nickname—with one of his idiotic doomsday devices or that damned robot he made from your brother’s DNA. You hate that robot. Maybe you hate it enough to substitute as hate for General Terror.

He hasn’t noticed you yet, and this could be over already if you’d just do it. But you can’t stab him in the back. You walk until you’re in his line of vision.

When he finally notices you, he starts and springs to his feet. “I thought you were going back to your timeline today,” he accuses.

“I am,” you reply. “Or I did, two and a half years ago.” His expression is puzzled, trying to work through what you mean. “I’m sorry, GT,” you say, drawing your sword. “I am.”

His eyes widen at the weapon. “Otto!” he yells, scrambling backwards into the wall of shelves.

Otto arrives in seconds, but you’re ready for him. Oh, how you hate this robot. Normally fighting a facsimile of your brother would be disturbing, but you’ve wanted to dismantle this mechanical clone for as long as you’ve known it existed, and it took all of your willpower not to when it tried to kill John. At the time, you still needed GT’s cooperation and he promised to keep the robot under control. No such hold-ups exist now.

Otto moves quicker than the average person, but so do you. Even with your time powers faltering, you’re able to match him step for step. For you, fighting is a dance—a two person tango that follows the rhythm of the constant ticking in your head—and it’s one that you always want to be leading.

You easily dodge or block Otto’s blows, and with every swing of your sword he retreats more, drawing you further into the room.

Oh, for fuck’s… He’s drawing you further into the room. You realize almost too late that he’s not trying to beat you; he’s trying to get you away from the door so GT can escape.

You flash-step back to the door—or, more accurately, you flash-step halfway to the door before your power fizzles out. Shit. You’re going to need to conserve whatever time energy you have left for escaping this time when you’re done. That means you’ll have to fight without your powers, but luckily you’re certain you don’t need supernatural abilities to beat these two laughing stocks of villainy.

Otto zips to Jake’s side and Jake levels at you two guns he’d grabbed from the shelves behind him. Maybe not a difficult fight without powers, but certainly a significantly more annoying one. You dive behind a lab table as he starts firing.

You press your back against the table, silently inching along its length so he doesn’t know precisely where you are, and reevaluate your strategy. Two against one, and at least one of them has long range weapons. Clearly you need to close the gap between you.

With every second ticking away, you’re intimately aware of the clock’s countdown. How long until the other you leaves? How long until Bro sees that message? How long until he comes? They may not know it, but you need to win this fight, whereas they only need to delay.

You bound over the table in two quick movements—one, swinging yourself onto the counter, and two, propelling yourself towards the villains. You only need to block a single shot with your sword before your feet hit GT’s right hand, knocking away one of his guns. The other gun he drops in his hurry to escape the swing of your blade.

Otto tackles you and you throw yourself forward with his momentum so that you hit the ground before him and roll before he lands. He changes directions instantly and springs towards you, but you brace yourself against the floor and block your position with your sword. The blade drags along his metal form with a grinding screech as he alters his course to avoid your weapon.

He’s off kilter now, and you slam your knee into him to further upset his balance. Pain shoots through your entire leg because GOD DAMN that is not something you should do to solid metal, but it gives you the momentary edge, which you take advantage of by straddling his torso and raising your sword.

In the next second, you fall backwards, barely avoiding the shot from GT’s recovered gun. He continues shooting in a steady path, forcing you backwards and away from Otto. The logical choice is to duck behind a table again and regroup, but you can’t let this fight drag on. It’s been too long already.

You attack straight into the firing gun, blocking shots with your sword. The aim wavers, uncertainty obvious in GT’s unsteady hand. You ram into him full force, knocking him to the ground. His eyes are wide as you swing your blade towards him. Terrified. You focus instead on his chest.

And then you’re thrown into a nearby table. At first, you think it was Otto, grabbing you and hurling you away, but then you see the figures in the doorway. Bro and John, still dressed in their civies. They hurried here without even changing. John’s hands are extended towards you, and papers flutter in the wisp of breeze dancing from his fingers.

His expression is horrified. You can’t look at him.

GT is grasping at his chest, blood seeping between his fingers. You must have hit him before being blown away, though you’re sure not as deep as you intended. Otto is already at his side, unhooking GT’s cape and gently moving his hands to press the cape against his wound and slow the bleeding.

Bro and John slowly navigate through the lab to GT and Otto, bodies turned towards you the entire trip. You’re sure their eyes are on you too, but you can’t look at their eyes. You’re running out of time and you know should make a move while you still have a chance, but you’re frozen in place, rendered motionless by their gaze. Who are you kidding, anyway? Time has already run out. Between Otto immediately beside GT, John’s wind powers, and Bro’s quick reflexes, you have no chance.

John slows as they approach General Terror. He nibbles his lip nervously at Otto, undoubtedly remembering the robot’s fingers around his throat, but Otto nods in welcome. John saved GT’s life. There’s no way that the robot will ever hurt him now.

He and Bro crouch beside GT. Bro’s gaze only leaves you long enough to assess the villain’s condition. He’s pale and his breathing labored, but he seem fully cognizant. If you leave now, he won’t die. They’ll take him to a hospital, and he’ll be fine.

You can’t leave now.

Otto has moved to General Terror’s back, letting GT use him as a backrest and wrapping his arms around his friend’s torso to continue pressing the cape against his wound. Bro’s hand drifts along the villain’s side, brushes against GT’s hand, and then briefly squeezes it.

He stands then and steps around GT so that he’s between you and your target. His movements are slow, almost melodic, as he pulls out the handle of his weapon, presses the button on the side, and extends the katana’s laser blade.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Bro,” you say.

“Yeah, well, you’re going to have to,” he responds. He lunges at you and you block instinctively, not sure how you manage to convince your lethargic limbs to react, how you’re able to keep moving—block, dodge, swing—despite your limbs feeling as heavy as if they were incased in concrete. You’re being pulled to the bottom of the ocean, and there is no air, and you are going to drown, but you keep on fighting. Another strike, another parry. You’re defending more than attacking. Even your attacks are a form of defense, pushing him back so that he isn’t able to force you into a corner.

But you know you can’t continue like this. You’re fading fast, and Bro is rested, fully-powered, and has only just entered the fight. Your only hope is to end it quickly. A Hiroshima.

You use your weakness and exhaustion to your advantage. You know you look horrible. By all appearances you’re going to fall apart any moment. So you make your movements a little more sluggish. You barely manage to block a strike. You trip backwards as you try to dodge and start to plummet to the ground, your sword hand held in front of you as if to help you catch your balance. And as he lunges forward to take advantage of your fall, you focus your energy on one quick flash-step, only a foot forward, and swing your already extended hand backwards to slam the sword’s hilt into the back of Bro’s head.

He goes down, and you hear the clatter of metal across the floor. Before you can fully turn to face GT, the wind throws you backwards again, but it’s shaky, uneven. You can feel John’s fear in the breeze.

You land a few feet beyond Bro. He’s conscious, looking at you bleary eyed, trying but failing to push himself up. John’s still crouched beside GT, clothes rustling in a draft that touches no one else. You start to stand, and you notice a device beside you, the one that clattered way from Bro when he fell. His cell phone.

As you grab it, you feel a surge of power. This is how Bro knows when you arrive and where you are. If you destroyed it, he wouldn’t be able to get those messages. At least not until he got a new phone, and that would take at least a day, wouldn’t it? It could give you some time.

You flip the phone over and look at its screen. It’s open to that damn message. You scroll down it, scowling at the familiar words. At the bottom, you notice that there are two images attached and open the first one.

The picture was taken from an awkward angle and you suspect that neither of the subjects knew they were being photographed at the time. Bro is sitting on a couch with his back against the armrest, and GT sits between his legs, leaning against Bro’s chest with Bro’s arms around him. They both look content. No, that’s not right. They look happy.

You unconsciously raise your gaze to group in front of you. Otto and GT’s almost identical position presents a twisted funhouse reflection of the image. GT’s eyes have drifted shut and you’re not sure he’s still conscious. There’s a lot more blood than the last time you looked. Otto’s attention is no longer on you at all, his chin rested on GT’s shoulder and cheek pressed against GT’s. You can tell he’s talking, his voice hushed and soothing, but you can’t hear the words.

You open the second picture. It’s a group shot of John, GT, and Bro, all three of them smiling. The way the expression seems unnatural on Bro’s face makes you wonder if you’ve ever seen him smile before.

In your peripheral vision, you see Bro slowly struggling to his knees. You know you should make a move now, but instead you ask, “Were these pictures attached to the message every time?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Bro mutters. “This message has been sent 23 times. If this is your first time seeing it, your brother is a fucking jackass.”

This is what he was fighting for, you realize, not blind trust in his future self. This is what you were stealing from him.

You try to solidify your plan. Destroy the phone. They’d have to take GT to the hospital. Come back during the night, before Bro has a chance to get the phone replaced, take GT out. He’d hate you forever. He and John both would, but they probably wouldn’t become villains. You’d be the villain. And you’d be okay with that, if you were helping them.

If you were certain you were helping them.

You swallow hard and drop the phone. Do you even need to bother with convoluted plans? Bro is still trying to climb to his feet, but he hasn’t been able to make it past his knees yet and, considering how he’s wavering, you doubt he’ll be able to maintain even that. John’s prepared to fight, but you might as well beat him up too. Why not hurt the ones you love in every way possible in your attempt to save them.

In your attempt to save yourself from what happens to them.

“I’m sorry.” You’re not even aware you’re saying the words until they leave your mouth. “I had no right…” You take a step backwards away from them, and then, pooling all the energy you can access, one more step backwards in time.

You mentally prepare what you’re going to say, rehearsing what has to be a convincing speech. You need him to believe you. To trust you. Hopefully, it shouldn’t be too hard. After all, you always were good at lying to yourself.

It’s the day before you originally left this timeline, and you only have a tiny sliver of time that past you will be alone. Probably even less time before your brother sees the text. You need to make this quick.

You step into his path as he walks to the store to buy a couple of small goodbye gifts. His eyebrows raise ever so slightly when he sees you. “Sup?” he asks.

“I know we generally try to avoid meeting, but this is important,” you reply. He crosses his arms and waits for you to continue. “When you leave tomorrow, go back, save your people, rejoin your life, and never return to this timeline.” He starts to object, but you interrupt his protest. “I know you feel like you belong here, but you don’t, and they deserve the right to determine their own paths without the shadows of the people you knew hanging over them. They’ll be fine. They’ll be happy. I promise.” You put as much sincerity as you can into those last words, despite the churning in your stomach. “And it’s better for you too. It’s not fair to anyone, you included, for you to try to live two lives in two timelines. Say your goodbyes, and go home.”

He’s studying you, trying to crack your stoicism. “You’re not telling me everything.”

“Of course I’m not,” you reply. “But I’m telling you what you need to know. This is for the best.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m positive.” He looks away, thinking about it. He’s not happy, you can tell, but he’ll listen. In the end, he’ll listen. He’s learned to trust words from the future. “Now you need to get going. I don’t want to disrupt the flow of events.”

As you watch your past self continue on his path, you hear footsteps approach behind you. You knew he’d arrive quickly. He must have been waiting for you to be alone.

“What are you doing here, Dave?” he asks.

“Saying goodbye.” You watch until the other Dave turns a corner, making sure he never looks back at you and Bro.

“To yourself?”

You very slowly turn to face him, the movement like the lethargic ticking of a dying clock. “I’m sorry, Bro.”

“Why?” He’s tense. He expects you to attack him. Not that you can blame him. This message has been sent 24 times. If this is your first time receiving it, your brother is a complete fuck-up.

“I left you and John alone, didn’t return for two and a half years, and when I didn’t like the paths you took while I was gone, I tried to change them. It won’t happen again. I’ve made sure of it.”

He’s confused now, lowering his weapon but not relaxing his stance. “What happened?” he asks.

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing that’s out of your control. I hope you make different choices this time, but they’re your choices to make. You won’t be receiving any more of those messages.”

He shifts uncomfortably. You like to think you’re the only one who can recognize those subtle indications of emotion—but no, that’s not right. Why would you wish that upon him? You want him to have others who are close enough and care enough to read his every move. You want him to have the picture-perfect life promised to him in those text messages.

“We will miss you, you know,” he says, his voice so devoid of emotion that it sounds sarcastic. He’s trying. You appreciate that.

You smile wryly at him. “You’ll get over it. Goodbye, Bro.”

“Goodbye.”

You close your eyes and put all that remains of you into getting out of your brother’s view. The ticking in your head has slipped off beat. Its unsteady palpitations are like a lullaby, and all you want to do is sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off of the Superstuck AU. If you don't read Superstuck, you should! There's a whole bunch of characters, all of which you can find [here](http://generalterror.tumblr.com/faq). 
> 
> Individual links for this story's main characters, in order of appearance:  
> [Alternate Future Dave Strider / The Gatekeeper](http://the-gate-keeper.tumblr.com/)  
> [Jake English / General Terror](http://generalterror.tumblr.com/)  
> [Dirk Strider/ The Tailorbird](http://the-tailorbird.tumblr.com/)  
> [John Egbert / Evilbuster](http://evilbuster.tumblr.com/)  
> [Otto Strider](http://ottostrider.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Other referenced characters:  
> [Roxy Lalonde / Tipsy Gambit](http://tipsygambit.tumblr.com/)


End file.
